


you can try to sink down deeply and find the children lost at sea

by ghosstkid



Series: a lost love takes a long time to die [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29904468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosstkid/pseuds/ghosstkid
Summary: James pauses as he reaches the stairs. Icicles hang from the bannister. He hears the whisper of men’s voices on the cold wind, the creak and groan of ice grinding against the hull of a great ship and the hiss of oil lamps struggling to fight off the cold.Among the whispers, he thinks he hears a familiar voice. Taking a deep breath, he takes the first step down the stairs. He follows the bootprints, mesmerized as they lead him deeper into the darkness.
Relationships: Ann Coulman Ross/James Clark Ross, Francis Crozier/Ann Coulman Ross/James Clark Ross
Series: a lost love takes a long time to die [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2198901
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	you can try to sink down deeply and find the children lost at sea

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song 'lifeforms' by daughter

The clock on the mantle ticks, idly counting the passing seconds. The dying fire crackles and spits out its last breaths. Rain taps on the tall windows of the warm bedroom like a ghost begging to escape the autumn storm. The bedroom door stands open to the dark, empty void beyond the carved wooden frame. 

A thick red quilt hangs limply over the great bed, it’s ornate headboard looming over the sleeping couple.

A sudden gasp shatters the hold that silence grips the bedroom with. The red quilt shudders as the man lying in bed digs his fingers into it, his knuckles white as snow. He closes his eyes as he begs for the bed to stop rolling side to side on black, frigid waves. Chunks of ice and salty water spill out from under the bed, soaking into the rug and dousing what was left of the fire. The bed is tossed mercilessly from one crashing wave to the next.

The red quilt, now soaked through, is the colour of blood. 

“James, dear?” A warm hand on his shoulder stills the bed. The waves and jagged bits of ice fade away, leaving behind a dry, warm quilt, a dying fire and the ticking clock on the mantle. A soft arm wraps around him. “It was just a dream, my love.” 

“I’m sorry I woke you…” James whispers, placing his hand over hers. She moves closer to him, her knees fitting into the backs of his. She presses a kiss to the back of his neck, between strands of strawberry curls. 

He feels her breath slow as she falls asleep once more. He wishes he could do the same. His wide eyes take in the darkness around them. On the chair by the fire, he has to remind himself that it is only his own dressing gown lying there and not a person. The rain taps on the windows. 

On his bedside table, a golden button glints, reflecting the light of the dying embers. 

Movement in the doorway beyond forces him to look away from the golden button. 

A man is standing in the dark doorway, the collar of his heavy greatcoat pulled up around his red, frost bitten cheeks. 

James can only stare at him. 

He feels one-hundred and twenty-nine hands pinning him down to his bed. 

The man slowly turns away from him, disappearing into the dark. 

“F-Frank...” James gasps. He throws off the red quilt, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He pushes himself up, a trembling hand reaching for the button on his bedside table. He slides his feet into his blue slippers. He stumbles towards the door. The chill in the air forces him to yank his robe from the chair by the fire. He pulls it around himself as he steps through the doorway, the blue silk fluttering around his legs. 

The hallway beyond the safe, warm comfort of the bedroom is dark yet he can still make out wet bootprints in the snow that covers the floor. He follows them further into the darkness. 

Snow crunches under his slippers. 

He shivers against the frigid wind, pulling his robe closer around himself, the blue paisley pattern dancing with every ripple of the silk fabric. 

James pauses as he reaches the stairs. Icicles hang from the bannister. He hears the whisper of men’s voices on the cold wind, the creak and groan of ice grinding against the hull of a great ship and the hiss of oil lamps struggling to fight off the cold. 

Among the whispers, he thinks he hears a familiar voice. Taking a deep breath, he takes the first step down the stairs. He follows the bootprints, mesmerized as they lead him deeper into the darkness. 

He reaches the bottom of the stairs. His breath fogs around him. He can make out the frost covering the walls and oozing over the portraits and paintings. He can hear the ticking of a clock. 

He hears the voice again, calling out to him now. James takes a step forward. He sees a familiar door near the end of the hall. It begins to slide open, warm lantern light spilling onto the snow-covered floor. He hurries towards it, his slippers causing him to teeter ungracefully. 

Francis is there, just on the other side of the door. James is certain of it. 

He reaches the door, his fingers grazing the wood. 

His right foot suddenly slips out from under him. 

James gasps in terror. He crashes to the snow, the cold sending a painful shock through him. He winces as the ice melts down his collar, his blue robe sprawled around him. He curls his fingers, expecting to find the button but it is not there. 

Panic rushes through him. 

He pushes himself up, trembling hands fumbling over the snow for the button. His heart pounds in his chest. 

He looks up at the Arctic sky that hangs over him, beautiful ribbons of green and pink swirling overhead. 

When he lowers his gaze, he sees the blood that covers the snow. 

A scream builds in his chest. 

“James! James, dear!” A soft hand on his shoulder stops the scream before it can escape. James’s eyes flutter open. Rain falls on his shoulders and soaks into his curls. He looks around their quiet courtyard with confusion, his robe soaked and heavy where it lays against the stones. Ann kneels in front of him, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. 

“A-Ann…” he gasps as he reaches for her hands. 

“You were just sleepwalking, James,” she says gently. “It was all just a dream. You are home, James. Safe and sound,” she whispers. Her nightgown has pooled around her, a blue shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. His trembling hands grip hers. “Let’s get out of the rain,” she says, gently pulling him to his feet. He staggers, nearly knocking them back over. She smiles and holds his hands tighter. He can’t help but smile with her. “Oh…” She kneels, her fingers reaching for the golden button on the wet stones. She places it in James’s shaking palm, curling their fingers around it. 

Together, they escape the rain, hurrying back inside the quiet home. She sets him down in a chair by the fire in the kitchen. Outside the window, the roses in the garden dance in the blustery, nighttime wind. Ann returns with a warm, fur blanket, draping it over his shoulder gently. 

“Look at you... just like your portrait. How handsome you are,” Ann smiles. James stares up at her, his eyes glistening. His bottom lip begins to wobble, tears welling up in his eyes. Her smile falls as he presses his face against her stomach, a sob rattling his cold body. She wraps her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his damp, strawberry curls. “They have broken you into pieces, my love.” She strokes his curls as he cries. When he can finally take a breath without a quiver or shake, she slowly pulls herself away from him to find him a warm cup of tea. James pulls the fur blanket closer, shivering as he stares out the dark window. He only looks up when Ann returns, setting the porcelain white teacup down on the table beside him. She sits next to him, taking his hand in hers. She watches the roses beyond the window dance in the rain. Steam rises from their teacups. The clock on the mantle ticks, counting the passing seconds idly. 

Resting on the window sill, a golden button glimmers in the warm light. 


End file.
